


Stunned Disbelief

by kailthia



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, kind of cracky, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:11:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kailthia/pseuds/kailthia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éomer of Rohan receives unexpected news that will change his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Abandoned Paperwork

**Author's Note:**

> My first E/L story, though my second one (Sunrise out of Sunset) was posted here on AO3 first. 
> 
> This is kind of crack-fic-y, so enjoy :)

Éomer looked up from the mass of paperwork crowding his desk as he heard yelling and other noises of a scuffle in the Hall. While fights were common in Edoras, they were rare enough in Meduseld as anyone caught fighting in the Golden Hall could expect severe punishment – a fate that Éomer knew all too personally. As the noise approached his study, Éomer stood up and headed towards his door to see what the matter was.

When he was nearly to the door, it burst open, admitting the dishevelled shape of someone that Éomer did not expect to see by any means – Amrothos, third son of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Said Princeling, panting and quite red in the face, was accompanied by what Éomer assumed was his brother Enchirion (whom Éomer had had described to him but had never met as his role during and after the War had been primarily naval, and so was often at sea), and a group of soldiers wearing the blue-and-silver of Dol Amroth’s soldiery. When Amrothos had straitened from forcing the previously locked door, he looked up, saw Éomer, rushed towards him in concert with Enchirion, and together the princes grabbed him by the shirtfront.

Taking a deep breath, Amrothos said, “You, sir, are a lying blackguard.”

“A truly most despicable cad,” Enchirion added.

Eomer, by now quite confused by the two princes’ strange behaviour, looked at Amrothos.

“It’s good to see you too, Amrothos, but why are you here? And why in Béma’s name are you insulting me so?”

Amrothos and Enchirion shared a meaningful glance.

“That’s it.”

“Is it time for the back-up plan, little brother?”

“I should think so. On three?”

“Three.”

At this, the two dropped Éomer, Amrothos turning to give his men a hand signal, at which they turned, left the room, and made preparations to guard it. Amrothos turned back to Éomer, nodded to Enchirion, and the two set upon Éomer, clearly attempting to cause him as much pain as they could without causing permanent harm. Éomer’s reaction – after a few seconds of stunned disbelief – was quick. He fought back, though with a mind more towards defense than attack. He still didn’t know why his good friend Amrothos, and his brother who he’d never met, let alone knowingly offended, would be doing this.

Soon the fighting noises inside the study were joined by similar noises outside as Éomer’s guard realized that their kind was under attack. The Dol Amroth men, outnumbered by men more heavily armed, were soon overcome. The Rohírric guards entered the royal study, led by their captain Éothain, and quickly separating the three combatants despite several minor injuries among the guards. Assisted by one of him men, Éomer stood up from where he had been laid low by Enchrion’s fierce right hook, which had a moment ago given him an impressive black eye.

“What,” he thundered, “is the meaning of this?”

“Don’t say you don’t know, you ass,” spat out Amrothos as he was held between two of Eomer’s guardsmen. “You took advantage of my sister, the Lady Lothíriel, in the basest way. She’s carrying your child – and you, you don’t even care, do you?”

Éomer looked at the two Dol Amroth royals with an expression of stunned disbelief.

“What are you talking about?”


	2. Counting Months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confusion is dissipated ... slightly.

“Say that again.”

“My sister, Lothíriel, the princess famous for her beauty, grace, and odd-duckishness across all Gondor, is pregnant. With your child. With your illegitimate child, to boot, since when pushed she admitted that you two aren’t, as such, married.”

Éomer gaped. Éothain, sensing a potential crisis of gossip, motioned for the guards to wait outside the study, assuming that the princes of Dol Amroth had worked off most of their physical anger in their initial assault. After shooing them out and closing the door firmly, he spoke.

“Apparently your trip to Dol Amroth after your sister’s wedding was more exciting than you mentioned, Sire.”

Three pairs of angry eyes – one brown, two grey – focused on Éothain, who wilted slightly under the pressure. He quickly backed off, moving away from his king and his (apparent) guests.

“Pregnant? When … when did this happen?”

Amrothos spoke, quietly but firmly.

“As your captain of the guard mentioned, you accompanied Father and I home to Dol Amroth after the Lady Éowyn’s wedding to our cousin Faramir five months ago. At this point, you made the acquaintance of our sister, Lothíriel, who had been unable to attend the wedding due to the need for her to remain with our brother Elphir’s wife, who was at the time quite ill.”

Enchirion then caught up the tale.

“It can only be assumed that you and our sister struck up a whirlwind romance, for when you left our city two months after you had arrived you had … seduced … Lothíriel at least once and succeeded in impregnating her. Father is simply livid.”

“As are we,” added Amrothos. “We considered whether it would be feasible for Dol Amroth to declare was on the Rohírrim without consulting King Ellessar, but …”

“Father decided that that would be impolitic and so sent us instead,” finished Enchirion.

“Beating me up doesn’t count as … _impolitic_?” snorted Éomer.

“That was our own touch. Father will likely disapprove, and who knows what Lothíriel will do.”

“To true, Am. She’s been moody as all get out since you knocked her up, Éomer.”

 Éomer sighed, collapsing into the chair behind his desk. “I suppose it’s too much to ask that you are merely toying with me to get a reaction, Amrothos.”

“Would I joke about something like this?”

“… No. So what do you two propose I do about this?”

“Well, first we have a few letters to deliver. One from Father, one from Lothíriel, and one from Elphir.”

“Don’t forget the one from King Ellessar, Enchirion,” added Amrothos.

“I was getting there, Am,” muttered Enchirion. He took a sheaf of documents out of his tunic, handing it to Éomer. “Father told us in no uncertain terms to let you read the documents in peace and privacy. Do you have somewhere we can put up our feet while we wait?”

Éomer thought for a moment, then reached a decision. “Éothain, see the princes and their men to the Hall for a meal – I’ll wager they haven’t eaten proper food in a while. While they eat see that their horses are stabled. Settle the men in the barracks and have Brytwyn make up rooms for the princes in Meduseld. And when she asks, I don’t know how long they’ll be staying.”

Éothain nodded, motioning for Amrothos and Enchirion to follow him. Éomer thanked Béma once again for his captain’s wife – she had taken up the position of housekeeper of Meduseld admirably after Théoden’s chief housekeeper, Eadmod, had expressed a wish to retire after the Ring War. Éomer wriggled in his chair, seeking a position that would minimize the pain from what he knew would become fierce bruises.

He pulled the packet of letters towards him. Noticing they were numbered, he searched for the one with a clear, bold “1” on the front, noticing that it came from Imrahil. “Well,” he thought, “there’s no time like the present.” He broke the seal on the letter and began to read.   


	3. Cracking Seals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are flashbacks and advice via letter.

The first thing Éomer notice about Imrahil’s letter was that it was comparatively informal – instead of beginning with the full paragraph of introductory titles that the ruling Prince of Dol Amroth was entitled to when writing, this letter began simply. Éomer assumed that this was Imrahil’s attempt to maintain a good façade and not scare off Éomer before he read the letter.

…

_To Éomer King of Rohan, greetings;_

_I find myself now in a very difficult position. My youngest child and only daughter has been discovered to be over two months gone with child, and names you the father of her babe. I would not have believed this possible, given that you are one of the most honorable men I know and were a boon companion during the War of the Ring. Yet my daughter is scrupulously honest – a trait she shares with your people – and would have no reason to lie to me. I am extremely disappointed in her, and, if this tale proves true, as I increasingly believe it will, I am just as disappointed in you as well. I would have you come to Dol Amroth with all haste to discuss this matter to everyone’s satisfaction. Amrothos and Enchirion have been instructed to not return without you. I will not ask you to excuse their probable behavior in regards to a likely assault upon your person upon their arrival in Edoras, as they have good reason to be angered at your actions. I know that I argued strongly against a union between Rohan and Dol Amroth in the short term when you were last here, yet it seems I will have to eat my words._

_With all haste,_

_Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth_

_P. S. I suggest you read King Ellessar’s missive next._

Éomer put the letter down on his desk. His final hope that Amrothos and Enchirion had been putting him on had failed, leaving him with the stark truth – Lothíriel was indeed carrying a child, carrying his child. He knew that he had to make this right, and soon. There was a fairly easy solution to this difficulty; as Imrahil had so indirectly alluded, he could travel to Dol Amroth and marry Lothíriel and solve the worst of the problem. The stain on Lothiriel’s honor would likely be permanent – in Gondor. The Rohírrim would likely be significantly less judgmental. Which was fortunate, as Lothíriel would likely soon be their Queen.

            Éomer picked up Aragorn’s letter next, noticing that it in fact contained two letters; one of them showed the official formal style that Éomer recognized as Aragorn’s “kingly” style, and the other was what he knew was a much less formal letter, being impressed with the seal of the Dunédan. Opening the official letter first, Éomer knew it for a formal show – it was a two-page scribe’s diatribe, boiling down to two main issues: ‘you’ve been a real idiot, Éomer King’ being one, and ‘fix this now, or else’ being the other. The second letter was exceedingly brief, with Aragorn telling Éomer what he had already concluded; if he married Lothíriel, he could kill two birds with one stone, avoiding the worst of the scandal while neatly solving the issue of a wife and (hopefully) an heir.

Setting down Aragorn’s letters Éomer picked up Elphir’s letter. This one did bear the formal introductions, which was to be expected from Imrahil\s stuffy eldest son. The meat of the letter, however, was anything but stuffy. Elphir promised dire retribution if Éomer did not come and make an honest woman of his sister at once. Éomer was caught between amusement and concern. While he was glad that Elphir was less of a stick in the mud than he appeared, the man would become the ruling Prince of Dol Amroth upon Imrahil’s death and Éomer wanted to stay on his good side. _Yet another reason to resolve this mess quickly._   

Elphir’s letter found its way to the growing pile of opened correspondence from Gondor. Picking up Lothíriel’s letter, he turned it over in his hands. Considering what this letter might say, he turned his mind back to his first meeting with Lothíriel…

……

            He had ridden from Minas Tirith in an unbalanced state the week after Éowyn’s wedding. He _knew_ that his sister and Faramir were very much in love – he wasn’t blind – but he didn’t want to see his sister go so far away. Éowyn was the only close family he had left in the world, and having her leave him like this was heart-wrenching. His only consolation was that Éowyn had agreed to visit soon and often. Yet that was still a fairly long-term plan, as Faramir’s Princedom of Illithien needed a good deal of fixing up despite all that Faramir had done in the year between the end of the war and his marriage to Éowyn. When Imrahil had suggested he detour to Dol Amroth for a few weeks before returning to Edoras, Éomer had jumped at the chance, feeling that it would be a good opportunity to clear his mind, as well as allowing to see the sea, which he had always longed to do.

            Six days in the saddle brought them from Minas Tirith to Dol Amroth. Éomer’s mood had lightened somewhat after Amrothos and Éothain, noticing his foul temper, had reached an unspoken agreement to cheer him up. Entering Dol Amroth had had the Rohírric company, Éomer included, gaping. Éomer had assumed that Imrahil’s city would be like Minas Tirith – tall towers reaching for the sky, with lifeless stone growing out of sea instead of land being the largest assumed difference. The truth was close, yet very far. Dol Amroth was a city of stone, but brighter, more alive than Minas Tirith. The city hummed with trade, the harbor full of ships from many ports. The streets heaved with people of many lands, though Gondorians predominated. It was obvious that the cityfolk had made attempts to brighten up their environment – houses had brightly colored shutters and window boxes full of flowers and herbs, and the city was dotted with small gardens and parks. The overall effect was cheerful, giving Éomer the impression of a lively, active city.

            As they rode through the city, however, Éomer had noticed clear signs of the deprivation of war that remained even after a year of peace. The proportion of city people out and about heavily favored women over men among adults, and the harborfront area was still being rebuilt after what looked to be a heavy assault. Dol Amroth had not escaped the Ring War unscathed. 

            A reasonably sized group of people had been waiting for them at the entrance of the castle which dominated the city and stood as the Prince’s residence, his administrative center and a major defensive stronghold for the city, though the Princess Lothíriel was not among them. Imrahil and Amrothos’ smiles became tense as they noticed that Prince Elphir’s wife was also not among the receiving party and Elphir himself looked haggard. When the party from minas Tirith had gathered in the square and dismounted, Elphir began giving a rather long-winded speech, with Éomer doing his best to look like he was paying attention. The biggest thing on his mind at the moment was stabling Firefoot so he could soak his aches away in a hot bath.

            Suddenly Elphir’s speech was interrupted. A small child, perhaps three years old, had popped his head around the palace gates, and, seeing the new arrivals, had run out to meet Imrahil, yelling ‘Gran’pa!’ at the top of his lungs. Imrahil laughed, swinging the little boy up into the air. Elphir, whom Éomer supposed to be the child’s father, had turned red as a brick.

Imrahil turned to Éomer, saying, “This little scoundrel is my grandson Alphros. He is quite a scamp to cause his father so much grief.”

Éomer put out a hand for the toddler to shake, addressing the child in Imrahil’s arms. “Good day, Lord Alphros. How do you do?”

A small, chubby fist (slightly damp, Éomer noticed) met his and gave it a firm though slightly hesitant shake. “I am good. How d’you do?”

“Very well indeed. I hope that -”

  Éomer’s hope that young Alphros would excuse him to go tend his horse was interrupted by the addition of an out-of-breath young woman to their group. She panted for a moment, then addressed Imrahil.

“I’m very sorry, Father, but Alphros can be very good at escaping. With Aredhel still not at her best and Elphir at the doors it seems that Alphros took an opportunity to wander out. He’s been quite excited to have you back.”

“That is quite alright, daughter.” Turning to Éomer, he said, “My grandson is quite the escape artist, you see – it is quite impossible to keep him where he does not wish to be. Yes, you, you rascal,” he scowled good-naturedly down at the wriggling toddler in his arms. “Scamp.”

 “And who is this, Father?”

“I keep forgetting that you two have yet to be introduced. Lothíriel, this is Éomer King of Rohan. Éomer, this is my only daughter and youngest child, the Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth.”

Éomer found himself looking into the biggest pair of grey eyes that he had ever seen.


	4. Initial Decisions Reached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are reached. There is majesticness and fluff?

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Éomer cracked the seal of Lothíriel’s letter. He was extremely worried about the contents of this letter. While he and Lothíriel had been very much in love before his departure from Dol Amroth several months ago – parental disapproval notwithstanding – the time apart might have cooled Lothíriel’s feelings. While he still loved his Gondorian princess with all his heart, a small corner of his heart was full of niggling fears about a possible change of heart on her side. And adding a child into the mix would definitely put a cat among the pigeons (as he had heard Faramir say), complicating her personal feeling for him with her desire to avoid a scandal in her home. He admitted to himself that he was scared – scared of her rejection, of her hatred, her loathing of him and what he had so unthinkingly done to her. Summing up his courage, he opened the letter.

 _My dear Éomer_ , it read,

            _I find myself in a veritable storm of conflicting emotion. After discovering myself with child last month, I did everything in my power to hide this fact from my family to give myself time to think. I left my family suspicious of my behavior but unsuspecting of the actual cause of my distress. When another moon’s turning had completed, my aunt Ivriniel – a veritable dragon in human form – dragged me aside and forced the truth from me, having discerned the likely cause of my symptoms from careful monitoring of my behavior. Of course she went immediately to tell my father, dragging me along by the ear._

_My love, Father’s reaction was truly impressive – I have seen him in such a rage only a handful of times in my entire life, and only twice in regards to something one of his children had done. This was an especial blow to him after he had told us that we could not consider being wed until after you had gotten Rohan up to what he called an acceptable standard to receive a queen. I honestly think that Father would have disowned me then were it not for my Aunt Ivriniel. As much as she disapproves of my actions (and rest assured, she disapproves very strongly indeed), my aunt is extremely sensible. She suggested we marry as soon as possible, which would be as close to damage control as possible. Father reluctantly agreed, seeing it as the only option. Aunt – who if you did not know was on a corresponding basis with your grandmother Morwen, as they were only a few years apart in age, aunt being several years older than Father – also reminded Father that having a wife in the early stages of pregnancy was not nearly as shameful in Rohan as it would be in Gondor._

_I will admit to having to contain my excitement at Father accepting the idea us being wed, although the child growing under my heart is making me extremely tired. I miss you greatly, and think of you every day, especially when losing the contents of my stomach due to morning sickness. I am, however, caught between intense joy at the mere thought of seeing you and cursing my own stupidity for putting us all in such an awful situation. I know that Father would come around, but I would not have knowingly put myself in such a situation to make it so. I only wished to lie in your arms once before you returned to Rohan. I did not expect the contraceptive herbs I took to fail, though it is too late to worry about that now. Éomer, I very much hope that this does not cause too much trouble with you politically. There will likely be rumors in Gondor for years about this, only furthering the notion that all the Rohírrim are northern barbarians, which seems like base ingratitude to me. I also hope that you do not feel pushed into this marriage because I am with child, though I cannot see a way out of it._

            _The plan my father proposed to me goes thus: as you no doubt know, Am and Erchi have been sent to update you of the situation, give you the letters from myself, Father, the king, and Elphir, and then bring you to Dol Amroth so we can discuss next steps. I am sorry that you have heard about your impending parenthood in such a way, but it couldn’t be helped._

_All my love,_

_Lothíriel_

 

 _Post-script - I am sorry if my brothers rough you around upon their arrival in Edoras. I believe they will attempt it in a fit of older-brother righteousness._    

 

            Eomer dropped the letter and put his head in his hands, the letter’s contents truly sinking in. He was going to be a father. _I am going to be a father._ He knew that he would have to go to Dol Amroth immediately and marry Lothíriel, which would make her, no their, child legitimate and her the rightful Queen of the Riddermark. He gave a small smile. While he had been daydreaming of Lothíriel as his wife since his return from Dol Amroth, it seemed that fate had played into his hands to make it happen earlier than he had hoped – albeit in a rather unfortunate matter. Éomer stood, wincing as his newly acquired bruises twinged in unison. Striding out of his study, he found Éothain in the Hall, talking to Amrothos and Erchirion. Éothain looked up, noticed his King, and gave a smile.

 

“You were busy in Dol Amroth then, Éomer.”

“Shut up, you. Amrothos, Erchirion, you’ll be pleased to know that I’ll be accompanying you to Dol Amroth. We leave the day after tomorrow.”


	5. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rohirrim ride for Dol Amoroth.

“The day after tomorrow? Why not tomorrow?”

Erchirion gave his younger brother a lever look. “Éomer is the king of Rohan, Am. He can’t just go gallivanting off without setting up some sort of plan for ruling the country when he’s away.”

Amrothos thought for a moment, then sighed. “I guess. But I don’t have to like it.”

Eomer took a seat and grabbed a cup, pouring himself some water from a pitcher. “Apart from setting up a governing council to take care of things while I’m gone, I also have some other odds and ends to sort out before I leave.” He drank deeply, empting the cup. “We’ll need food, supplies, guards ….”

Éothain broke in. “Sire, you’ll have to bring at least your tent. You don’t want the lady to have to sleep out in the cold, do you? We’re in the middle of Narquelië now – there could well be snow by the time you’re heading back.”

“Indeed I don’t. I’ll have to ask Brytwyn to have a cart packed up with the tent and what should go in it.”

“Shall I go fetch her?”

“Please do, Éothain. And break it to her that she will have to do without her husband for a time – you, at least, are definitely coming with me on this jaunt.”

“Joy. I’m off then.” With that, Éothain went off in search of Brytwyn, his wife and the formidable housekeeper of Meduseld. Everyone in the Golden Hall, Éomer included, stepped carefully around Brytwyn. Her temper was legendary when roused, though this was a rare occurrence, especially after her marriage to Éothain. It was generally held that Éomer’s laid-back guard captain had a calming effect on her.  

After Éothain had left, Erchirion turned to Éomer. “I can assume that you have come around and you are, in fact, going to marry my sister?”

“Yes. Frankly, I would have done so before I left Dol Amroth but your father was dead set against us marrying so soon. Kept going on about needing a longer courtship period. I’ve exchanged some letters with Lothíriel, but she never mentioned the possibility of being with child.”

This time it was Amrothos who answered. “She might well not have. Lothíriel always was close-mouthed about her problems. Remember how long it took her to open up after Mother’s death, Erchi?”

“Valar help me, yes. It took years to get her out of that.” Seeing Eomer’s look of confusion, Erchirion continued. “Our mother died about ten years ago. Lothí was ten, Am was thirteen, I was sixteen, Elphir twenty. We were all devastated, but Lothí seemed to turn in on herself, not talking to anyone. We couldn’t get her to talk about it for years. Am got it out of her about two years ago.”

Amrothos nodded. “It was a big fuss. Lots of crying, very emotional. You’ll have to watch out for that, Éomer. Don’t let her keep her cards so close to her chest. For your own peace of mind if nothing else.”

Éomer was confused. “You two were trying to beat the crap out of me an hour ago and now you’re giving me advice on how to manage marriage to your sister? Are you insane?”

“No,” they said in unison. Erchirion continued, “Just happy that everything’s sorted out. We talked to Lothí before we left and she’s simply over the moon with love for you. We honestly thought that you knew about the child and Lothiriel’s feelings about you and didn’t care enough about her to make it right.”

“But since you obviously didn’t know about the child, and were clearly doing everything in your power to be with Lothí, we’re fine with you,” said Amrothos. “I liked you since we met during the War, and couldn’t really think of a better husband for Lothí.”

Erchirion went on, “And I already like you. Your attempts to resolve the situation put you in my good books.”

“Am I going to get an apology for you two beating me up earlier?”

“Definitely not. Just because we like doesn’t mean we’ve forgiven you for sleeping with our sister before you married her, and getting her pregnant to boot.”

“I’m working on fixing that. Cut me a break already.”

The two princes laughed. “You’re not that lucky, Éomer. You’re going to be our brother-in-law soon.”

 Éomer groaned. He had the feeling that his soon-to-be brothers were not going to go easy on him.

Amrothos grinned at him. “But before we get into that, I think your housekeeper wants a word.”

Éomer turned, noticing that Brytwyn had been waiting for him to finish with the Dom Amrothian princes to approach him about details for the trip.

“Amrothos, don’t you think we should leave Éomer King to his details and go check on our people?”

“Quite right. We’ll see you later, my lord king. Off we go!” With that, the two sauntered off in the direction of the stables, Erchirion finishing off a roll as he went.

Éomer turned to Brytwyn. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. There’s a lot to do.”

OOoOoOoOoOo

Two days later at dawn the party set to go to Dol Amroth gathered in the courtyard outside the Golden Hall. An armored figure with a white horsehair tail on his helmet gave one last look over the party, then, standing in the saddle, have a hand signal and cried, “Eorlingas, we ride!”

They were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narquelië ≈ October


	6. Studied Neutrality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is posturing.

Seven days after their departure from Edoras, the Rohírric party arrived at Dol Amroth just as the sun was reaching its zenith. It was clear that the errand rider sent on ahead had made better time than the wagon-bound main party, as a good portion of the city had turned out to see the newcomers as they rode up to the castle. Éothain, who had been riding beside Éomer, turned to him. 

“A right lively bunch of people here, Sire.”

“That’s so, Éothain. Very enthusiastic.”

“You’d know from experience, Majesty. Your princess seems like quite the enthusiastic type.”

Eomer’s glare shot daggers at his captain. He was very glad that they’d been speaking in Rohírric, as he would not have cared to defend Éothain from Amrothos and Erchirion if they’d caught wind of his comment.

“Éothain, keep the lewd comments to yourself while we’re here. You know how prissy these Gondorians are.”

“I see people on the steps, Sire. Is your lady one of them?”

Thoroughly distracted by the possibility of seeing Lothíriel, Éomer craned his head towards the steps of the castle, still a good distance away. Éothain was correct – Lothíriel was there. A flash of inspiration hit Éomer, and he turned, asking Amrothos and Erchirion to come up and ride with him.

“Gentlemen, we are about to perform a bit of trick riding. I suggest you ride on ahead and greet your family while we prepare. And take the wagons with you – they’d only get in the way.”

The two nodded, bemused, and kicked their horses forward. Amrothos, being Amrothos, could not resist a parting shot.

“Don’t trample anyone by accident, Éomer King. I doubt that you’d care to explain that to Father.”

Once the two Princes had gone far enough ahead, Éomer gathered the portion of his éored that had accompanied him – forty hand-picked soldiers. Addressing them in Rohírric, he explained what he wanted to do. Once everyone was clear, the group rearranged themselves into the appropriate formation. At a sharp command from Éomer, they began to move towards the castle at a fast trot, singing as they went. Once Amrothos and Erchirion made it to the steps, they began to gallop. Éomer could see the expressions of confusion on people’s faces, even if he could not hear the accompanying gossip through the wind in his ears. As they approached the castle, Éomer saw a variety of reactions – disapproval on the face of an older woman he assumed to be Lothiriel’s Aunt Ivriniel, amusement in the smiles shown by Amrothos and Erchirion, and studied neutrality defining the visages of Imrahil and Elphir.

Then Eomer’s gaze passed onto Lothíriel and the breath caught in his throat. _Béma she is beautiful._ Almost as tall as her brothers, Lothíriel stood beside her father. Looking closely, Éomer noticed the early signs of pregnancy in his lady – her waist was slightly thickened and she had the certain look that only a gravid woman took on. While her face was as studiously neutral as her father’s and eldest brother, he could see the laugh in her eyes as they made eye contact. Winking at her, he rode up the steps while his men paused, their horses whickering. He swung Lothíriel up in front of him in the saddle and, clucking to Firefoot, made his way down the stairs.

“How far do you want to go, dearest?” he asked.

“Turn left after that building with the blue banners, and go straight. There’s a route for this sort of thing.”

Nodding his acknowledgement, he followed her directions at a canter, his men following on behind. Once the Palace was out of immediate sight, he pulled Lothíriel closer to him and planted a kiss on the top of her head as they rode.

“I’ve missed you so, dearest.”    

She twisted around to hug him as much as she could given the circumstances.

“I’ve missed you too. Did my brothers rough you around after all?” she asked.

“No more than I deserved,” he replied, chuckling.

“Turn right, love, or we’ll be on the road to leave the city. I can’t blame the boys – you did besmirch my honor in a most despicable fashion.” Lothíriel wrinkled her nose and made a face to show what she thought of _that_.

 Leaning into the turn, Éomer placed his hand on Lothíriel’s stomach. “Why didn’t you sent word as soon as you suspected?” A long pause followed.

“I wanted to be sure. And then when I was the whole thing exploded in my face. Turn right again, please.”

“Well, one way or another, I’m here now. We’ll sort it out. Is your father still angry?”

“More resigned than anything now, I think.”

“Good. Resigned is easier to deal with than fuming mad.”

“I’ve been working on him as much as I could – here’s the last turning – but you know how stubborn he is.”

As they turned the final approach into the castle, Éomer nodded. “Very stubborn. And this stunt won’t help either.”

“It was still worth it, though.”

“Dearest, that seems to describe everything relating to you.”  

Once they were at the foot of the stairs, Éomer dismounted and, taking Lothíriel by the waist, he carefully pulled Lothíriel off Firefoot and placed her gently on the ground. After Éomer gave Firefoot a quick ‘follow me’ command, the couple climbed the stairs, with the horse and Eomer’s guard following on behind. Imrahil started forward form the group on the landing. Clasping Éomer’s arm, he spoke.

“Welcome back to Dol Amroth, Éomer King. Bring your people inside – you will all be in need of some food and hot water after your trip.”

The Rohírric party entered the castle in several parties, with most of the guards heading to the stables to see to the horses and gear and Éomer, Éothain, and the few other dignitaries following the Ruling Prince of Dol Amroth into the castle.


	7. Searches and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are apologies and plans are made.

After Éomer had gotten to his assigned rooms, arranged his bags into some semblance of order, bathed, and dressed, he went in search of Imrahil. He wanted to get things sorted out as soon as he could. He counted Imrahil as a good friend, and wanted to patch up their strained relationship as much as he could. Éomer felt that this was especially important for Lothíriel’s sake – she loved her father very much and he didn’t want to be the reason for an estrangement between them.

            Éomer made his way to Imrahil’s private study, remembering the way from his previous visit to Dol Amroth. He knocked on the door are was thankful that Imrahil opened the door quickly and admitted him, as it would have been awkward if he hadn’t been in or would not see him. Imrahil shut the door behind Éomer and motioned for him to take one of the comfortable-looking chairs facing the Prince’s desk. After both men had sat, Éomer cleared his throat. Yet before he could begin to explain himself, Imrahil spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

Éomer gaped. He felt like one of those deep-sea fished Lothíriel had shown him – a carp, he thought – with his mouth moving and no noise coming out. All of his worried preparation for this moment during the long ride from Edoras had centered on Imrahil being at least moderately angry at him for seducing his daughter – an act that would be unthinkable by Gondorian standards. Yet in two words Imrahil had stood all that on its head. Since Imrahil looked like he wanted to unload a topic that had been plaguing him for some time, Éomer let him continue.

“I should not have kept you and Lothíriel apart. I could see when you were here how much you two care about each other, and I will readily admit that I only kept Lothí here for personal reasons – to keep the family together a bit longer after the trials of the War. I only wanted to make sure that Lothíriel did not rush into a marriage after all that has happened. I worried that she would pick the first man that seemed suitable and that she thought I would approve of, not thinking of the long-term consequences. Lothí does tend to do that … but not about the important things. I have been rather an idiot – not that Lothí has let me forget it.”

Éomer sagged against his chair – only a moment into the conversation and all his worries beginning to evaporate. Yet he could see how troubled Imrahil was by this and so he spoke up to comfort him.

“Don’t carry all the guild yourself, Imrahil. I did not act with … long-term consequences … in mind either. I am extremely disappointed in myself for the way that this has turned out. I would much rather have taken Lothíriel to Edoras to wed me in all ceremony and honor, not in some hurried, desultory ceremony to ensure the legitimacy of a child.”

Imrahil sighed. “I don’t think that any of us handled this well. It doesn’t help that the pregnancy has already exasperated Lothíriel’s tendency towards drama and mood swings – good luck with that, by the way. You’re going to need it.”

“You know, Amrothos told me the exact same thing. Is it that bad?”

“Yes. We’ve all been feeling the sharp side of her tongue lately – Am and Erchi actually managed to escape the worst of it. But we’re not sure how much of her malaise is due to the child and how much of it is due to her missing you.”

“She should cheer up now that I’m back then. And I’ll willingly submit myself to her temper, as it’s rather my fault that she’s found herself in this condition.”

“Watch out for thrown objects. Lothíriel has excellent aim.”

“So does Éowyn. I’ve had to suffer my sister’s displeasure with such tactics before, so I should be able to manage again.”

“Good.” The small smile that had come to Imrahil’s face fell as he continued. “Now, Éomer, I have an important topic to broach with you. You know that this – escapade – has caused a significant scandal here in Gondor?”

“Yes. Your point being?”

“Will there be a similar reaction in Rohan? I mean, this sort of situation can’t be that typical. I know that your people have a less rigid system of propriety than here, but I am worried about how my daughter will be received in Rohan, especially after the child is born well before what might be considered the normal time for first child.”

Éomer laughed. “You don’t have to worry about that, Imrahil. This sort of situation, as you call it, is actually not that uncommon in Rohan. As long as Lothíriel and I are married well before the child is born the worst of the gossips will be satisfied. Come to think of it, Amrothos and Erchirion handled the situation in a very Rohírric fashion, dragging me here to restore their sister’s honor.”

“Did they try to beat you up? I know that Lothíriel tried to convince them not to, but those two always disregarded her when they felt it important enough.”

“Dare I ask what you told them on the subject, Imrahil?”

Imrahil snorted. “I simply told them that as long as you arrived here in once piece and not showing any visible signs of violence I would turn a blind eye to any inconsistencies in your stories. After all, I wouldn’t want Lothí to be widowed before she was wed.”

“Not that it would have mattered that much if they had managed to do me in. Lothíriel and I were already mostly married according to Rohírric traditions when we spoke our betrothal vows to each other before I left. The wedding ceremony here and the crowning ceremony back in Edoras will only finalize things.”

“You won’t do the crowning here?”

“Can’t. It needs to be done in Meduseld. It’s part of the ceremony.”

“But during the Battle of the Pellenor your people acclaimed you as king as soon as your uncle was dead, though you hadn’t been crowned.”

“As much as the Rohírrim thrive on ceremony, we’re a very practical people. The crowning is important, but we were in the middle of a war and what we needed was a king, crowned or no. So we all just improvised. The fact that I was the only male heir of the House – and that Uncle had proclaimed me King before his death – helped. Lothíriel will experience something similar; she will assume the practical authority of the Queen of Rohan upon becoming my wife, even if she won’t be crowned until our return to Edoras.”

“That makes sense, though - ” A slightly frantic knock made the door rattle. Imrahil called out, “Enter,” looking concerned about who wished entrance to his private study in such a hurry.

Lothíriel burst into the room. “Father, have you seen Éomer? I went to his room to see him, but by the time I got there he was – _there_ you are! I’ve been looking all over for you! Did you not want to see me?” Lothiriel’s righteous outrage turned to panicky fear in a second, unshed tears bright in her eyes.    

 _They were right about the mood swings at least – Lothí was never this bad before. I’ll just have to make do, then._ Éomer stood, and walking over to her he drew her into the circle of his arms. “I’ll always want to see you, dearest,” he murmured, “I just had to talk to your father for a moment. I’m sorry if I disrupted your plans,” he added, giving her a small smile.

With that her tears were gone, and she gave a small ‘hmph’ of disapproval as she cuddled closer to him. “You’ll just have to make it up to me later.”

Éomer stood, enjoying the moment. Lothíriel seemed to be enjoying the moment as much as he did, as she had a contented smile on her face. He still could not entirely believe that he was going to spend the rest of his life with this woman. He knew that while it would not be easy, it would most definitely be worth it.  

A small cough brought the couple back to reality. “Now, children, I know that you are impatient to spend some time alone together but we have a few things to discuss before I can let you go. Most urgently, have you two picked a date for your ceremony?”

The next several hours passed in a flurry of planning.


	8. Hobbits and Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a wedding.

Éomer slammed the door behind him, locking it firmly before collapsing against it with a sigh. “Well, that was … interesting.”

Lothíriel gave a snort of laughter, her eyes crinkling with amusement. She came to sit beside Éomer on the floor near the door, at which point Éomer wrapper her in an enveloping hug.

“Interesting?  Today has been one of the craziest days of my life! It was mayhem! Pure and utter mayhem!”

“Too true. Who convinced the Hobbits to do the dance on the table?”

“There was no convincing. Mithrandir told me that it is a custom among the Hobbits to do so, and that Merry and Pippin were not trying to be a nuisance. Or make a mess.”

“They kicked a plate of shellfish into your father’s face. And a good portion of a tureen of soup landed on Queen Arwen’s dress.”

“I didn’t say that it was a good idea, Éomer, just that they were not being intentionally obnoxious.”

“I, at least, am very glad that the whole thing is over with.”

“Me too,” Lothíriel agreed. “I am also glad that so many of our friends were able to come. Two weeks is rather short notice.”

“Those who could come, came. And fortunately there was little fuss over the now slightly obvious point that you are with child.” Éomer passed a possessive hand over Lothíriel’s slightly rounded stomach.

“Eowyn was displeased. She wanted to be at the center of the baby-mania.”

“She’ll just have to deal with it. At least our children will be about the same age. They will be able to do things together.”

“Along with the soon-to-be-born royal Gondorian heir.”

“Who will be a few months older, thankfully. Hopefully he or she will able to keep ours somewhat in check.”

“We’re going to have our hands full anyway.”

Éomer snorted. “I have my hands full already.”

“Surely you realized life with me wasn’t going to be easy, Éomer.”

“That I knew from the first time I met you. I just didn’t know how bad it was going to be until Amrothos and Erchirion came bursting into my office threatening me with bodily harm.”

“You still don’t know how bad it’s going to be. What if the child takes after Amrothos? Or Éowyn? Or Amrothos _and_ Éowyn?”

“You are very good at managing your brother, and I am passably good at managing my sister. In the unfortunate event that our child takes after both of them, we’ll just have to pool our knowledge and survive. Or possibly send the child to Gondor to live the aforementioned relatives until he or she cools down.”

Lothíriel clambered to her feet, her elaborate dress hampering her. “Now that we’ve made a plan of action for the child, I do believe that I shall go to bed. It’s late, and it’s been a long day.”

Éomer looked at her, startled. He got up after her. “You’re going to sleep? But …”

His argument was smothered in an intense kiss.

“I didn’t say I was going to _sleep_ , did I?”

Éomer smiled and, picking Lothíriel up, carried her to the bed.

_Finis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's a wrap, folks!


End file.
